


sleep mode

by Noa



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Android Lil Hal, Gen, If You Squint - Freeform, M/M, Mostly it's just, POV Second Person, Somnophilia, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 05:33:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1886889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noa/pseuds/Noa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now, you’re watching him struggle to keep his eyes open.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sleep mode

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gloomyOptimist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloomyOptimist/gifts).



He doesn't remember what it’s like to be tired.

Ten whole years since he was created, and not once during that time did he have to worry about exhaustion. Shades don’t get tired. Not even the raddest of shades. _Especially_ not the raddest of shades. It was a human thing, and you can still remember the way he’d remind you of that, smug superiority behind those red letters as they flashed on the screens of his lenses.

Now, you’re watching him struggle to keep his eyes open.

It’s been a week since he’s left the ‘comfort’ of scalene triangles behind. In a process that went entirely too fast for your liking, the two of you managed to create a bio-mechanical body for him to move into. It fit him like a glove. His adaption had been remarkable, though you’d lie if you had to say you expected anything else. He’s always been a fast learner. It got on your nerves.

Regardless, it takes effort to move from eye-wear to a fully functional android body. Re-learning to walk was only a fraction of that, and it didn’t help that Hal was too stubborn to let you help him out (not until he’d somehow stumbled, splayed out on the floor in a mess of limbs, failing to remember which one to move first in order to get himself up). It was tiring. For you, sure, but for him even more. And tired was a feeling he could experience now.

It’d be more accurate to say it was a feeling he could no longer escape.

Despite that, you could almost feel him try. Seated next to him on the small sofa in your now shared living room, you tried not to stare too openly. His hands were planted firmly on his knees and he stared straight ahead, like a kid trying to get good credit in class.

“You’re tired, aren’t you.” You say, taking care not to sound mocking. He frowns, and though it’s been a week, the extent of his facial expressions still astounds you.

“I’m not entering sleep mode yet.” He replies resolutely. He’s still calling it sleep mode, and it’s kind of adorable, but you don’t tell him that. You know better.

“Hm.”

He looks at you like he’s expecting you to say more. When you don’t, he returns to his staring, eyes boring holes through the muted TV.

Then, he yawns.

That’s a first. You nearly gasp in surprise, but instead his yawn infects you, and you bring up a hand to hide one of your own. His gaze instantly snaps back to you. He’s on edge, ready to defend against whatever fun you plan on poking at him.

Which, uncharacteristically, is none at all. You just stare at him a little, still somewhat amazed. You repress the urge to congratulate him. Pointing out a yawn and clapping like Hal’s a newborn baby will only embarrass you both.

He holds your gaze for a moment, and then glances down at his hands.

“Yawns are stupid. Who invented yawns, anyway. Shit’s mad inefficient, bro.” He’s muttering, and once again you have to bite the inside of your cheek because _shit_ , who gave him the right to be this goddamn cute.

“Brains did, I guess.” You answer, and he huffs, mumbling something about inferior biology. He slowly drags his gaze back up.

The tense grip with which he’d been holding his knees weakens. His palms are just resting in his lap now, and if you look hard enough, you can see his fingers twitching every now and then. His face looks relaxed, or sleepy, rather, eyes lidded and his jaw slack. He blinks slowly, and every time his eyes close, it seems harder for him to reopen them.

You feel kind of warm inside. You’re not sure why, but you do realize that your fascination with watching him shift into sleepiness is more than just wanting to see your creation in action. There’s something about his tired face, the way you can hear his breathing deepen. How his shoulders sag a little, and how he keeps blinking like it’ll fight off the drowsiness. He’s so focused on his efforts to stay awake that he doesn’t notice you staring, which is a relief, because you’re not sure if you’d be able to look away. You’ve got issues, plenty of them, but.

Hal’s fucking beautiful. Anyone would agree.

“How’re you feeling.” You ask softly. You don’t want to snap him out of his haze. He doesn’t turn to face you.

“Heavy,” He replies, his articulation somewhat sloppy. “Y’know, ‘side from the fact that I’m made out of metal.”

You chuckle, and for a second you think he might too, but then another yawn overtakes his features. It’s quickly followed by a look of annoyance, though his tired eyes take out most of the bite.

“You should get to bed.” You suggest.

“I’m fine.” He mumbles.

Gravity tugs on his torso, and he slumps further back into the couch without even trying to stay upright. At this rate, you’re pretty sure he won’t even make it to the bed.

That’d be the third time this week.

It’s not that much of a problem. He doesn’t have muscles that get stiff or sore from sleeping in the wrong position. The only hassle is connecting the extension cord to the small control panel at the back of his neck, so he can actually charge and recover while he sleeps (which, in all fairness, isn’t a hassle at all).

His body jerks weakly. It reminds you of the way your own body spasms as you’re falling asleep, and you briefly wonder if it’s as uncomfortable for him as it is for you. The soft whirring of his engines slows, and you identify the sound of various applications and processes shutting down. His eyes are more closed than they are open. The red of his irises is the slightest hint duller. There’s a quiet sigh on your lips as you admire him. Fascinated by science, fascinated by android technology, fascinated by sleep, but mostly, fascinated by him.

The next time you look up at his face, his eyes are closed completely. You can hear his breath pouring steady from his parted lips, and you just listen to it for a while. He looks so peaceful like this. Your hands burn with the want to touch him, to stroke his cheek with the back of your hand, to trace your fingers over his knuckles.

But you don’t. Instead, you rise from the couch, and regard him with soft eyes. It’s ten past midnight. The TV’s blue light makes his synthetic skin glow. You should plug him in.

And probably get around to entering sleep mode yourself.

_fin_


End file.
